


Sands

by orphan_account



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, pricefield
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6340006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Chewing on her tongue, Chloe glances up at Max wandering around the beach, footprints marking her zig-zag trail through the sand. A huff of breath escapes Chloe’s lips, because she wouldn’t be cold and sandy and sort of irritated if Max hadn’t insisted on stopping by this godforsaken beach to take pictures of the Golden Gate."<br/>---<br/>Post episode 5. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sands

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVEN'T POSTED A FIC IN 295103 YEARS so here's this warm-up fic I did this week to try and get back into the groove lol
> 
> a practice in body language too I'm a little bad at showing and not telling lol (I have a lot of other areas to work on but I wanted to try and practice this one)
> 
> ALSO BECAUSE I WENT TO THE BEACH RECENTLY WITH THESE TWO REALLY COOL MAX + CHLOE COSPLAYERS AND SO HERE'S THIS LOL

Chloe digs her fingers into the sand, soft and rough against her skin. She pinches the fine grains between her thumb and forefinger, watching the bits fall away and back into the endless stretch of beach. Pressing her palm back onto the ground, Chloe watches the breeze push past her, a ripple of sand drifting across her hand and onward. The sands of time...Chloe clenches her fist, tightly, but the grains fall through the crevices between her fingers and she swallows, gritting her teeth; she has to spit a second later after hearing the unsettling sound of the crunch of sand in her mouth. Sand and time -- they’re everywhere and anywhere and annoying.

She leans back slightly, pressing her back against the large piece of driftwood behind her, digs the heels of her boots into the ground. It’ll take forever to get the sand out of their socks and shoes.

Hey, Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream…

The wind rustles around her again, and she uses one hand to adjust her beanie around her head; despite the spring weather and sunny skies, remnants of winter chill still drift by, rustling the collar of her jacket and freezing the tips of her fingers. Chewing on her tongue, Chloe glances up at Max wandering around the beach, footprints marking her zig-zag trail through the sand. A huff of breath escapes Chloe’s lips, because she wouldn’t be cold and sandy and sort of irritated if Max hadn’t insisted on stopping by this godforsaken beach to take pictures of the Golden Gate.

Max stops just where the water recedes, camera held in her hands as she bites her lip and looks off across the bay. Chloe watches attentively, waiting for that moment that she knows will come -- and then Max raises her camera, and even from here and over the sound of the waves, Chloe hears the shutter whirr. A slight pause while Max pockets the photo, and then she’s back to tracing her random route across the sand. Sometimes she glances out at the water, like she’s expecting something to come out, but nothing ever does -- except for a stray bowling ball that washed up just a little ways down the beach. Max’s laughter filled Chloe with relief when she mentioned it was probably a gift from the aliens.

It wasn’t a full on genuine laugh, but it was something. Chloe lowers her shoulders a little. Her hands clench into fists at her sides though, sand filtering through her fingers as she tries not to remember when Max had passed out --

She shakes her head, blinking, inhaling through her nose. Max is here, they’re both here. Chloe loosens her fingers, puts her hands in her lap, and turns her gaze out to the waves. Her heartbeat slows in her chest as she looks up at the Golden Gate towering in the distance, vaguely red in the afternoon fog.

Somewhere beyond the sea, somewhere waiting for me…

Chloe glances up when a shadow falls across her knees, and Max settles down next to her, scooting herself closer before leaning back on the driftwood too. Her camera rests in her lap, and when Chloe presses a kiss to the top of Max’s head, she glimpses Max’s contemplative expression, something that’s in the present but somewhere off in time too. Sliding her hand next to Max’s, the two watch the world for a little while longer.

Sometimes they hear things besides the waves and the wind. A few cheerful dogs come bounding past, tennis balls held in their mouth and Chloe smiles a little when Max grins as she pets an excited beagle. Chloe stiffens when she hears a loud  _ bzz _ ing sound, and Max chuckles as she points at the sky -- a tiny drone zooms above them, then around them, then flies back to its owner down the beach. Chloe listens to Max explain Brooke Scott, sees the humor that tugs at the corner of Max’s lips, and Chloe shakes her head at all the right places. Later on in the day they see a small child giggling and chasing himself with his own remote-controlled toy car. Me too, Chloe thinks, me too kid.

Eventually Max pulls out all the photos she took. Some are still underdeveloped, but the ones that are all there are gorgeous -- like always. Chloe squeezes Max’s hand as they shuffle through them. There’s one with the bowling ball. Another of the Golden Gate. Another of Alcatraz in the distance. Chloe’s fingers are so cold her hands tremble a little when she pinches the white frames in between her thumb and forefinger, but she wonders if the shaking in Max’s hands is from the cold or from…

It’s been months. Max still wakes Chloe up at night, panting and sweating and wide-eyed, hands balling up the front of Chloe’s shirt. Sometimes her photos don’t come out crystal clear anymore. Sometimes they’re blurry, shaken a little around the edges. Chloe hates time but she needs time -- time is what fucked all of this up, but time is what she spends to get to be with Max everyday.

And Max hasn’t taken a selfie in months. Not since that morning after they’d raided the Blackwell pool. Chloe had nodded, throat dry, when Max explained how she could jump through. Now Max only takes photos of their world together. Sometimes Chloe. But the idea that Max can’t ever look at a photo of herself is what makes Chloe punch a tree when Max isn’t looking.

Chloe’s hand tightens over Max’s, and Max leans on her shoulder. Pressing another kiss to the top of Max’s head, Chloe lets out a shaky sigh.

God only knows what I’d be without you…

 


End file.
